Understanding
by Melodious329
Summary: Duncan doesn’t understand Methos, he should have kept that in mind. When Joe goes to Mac with news, Methos flees anticipating Mac’s judgment. But whose side is Duncan on? Slash DM/M
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Takes place sometime between Keane episode and Archangel (which never happens in this universe).

Author's Note: If Hunted was my story where Methos is the existentialist hero, Nietszche's _ubermensch,_, then this is the opposite. This is the story where everyone is a product of their environment, trained in some way by the circumstances in which they grew up. Like anthropologists are always searching for the environment under which humans evolved as if it would illuminate the natural state of humans.

Duncan did not understand Methos. This was not the first time he had had that thought, in fact, most of the time that thought didn't even bother him. How could Duncan imagine the environment under which Methos would have grown up? How could anyone understand living that long? No, the Highlander had long ago accepted that he didn't understand Methos.

Since they had become lovers, the amount of things about the ancient immortal that Duncan didn't understand had increased exponentially. Their relationship had begun fairly innocuously about a month ago. After two years of highs and lows and anticipation, Duncan had just kissed the other man.

They had gone back to the loft after Joe's bar had closed. Duncan was standing by the bar fixing them both a drink, another one. Methos had been standing too, gesturing wildly with his hands as the ancient immortal was wont to do when making some point. Duncan could not even remember what they had been talking about, but Methos had looked so…adorable, he was so passionate about whatever the topic was, bright-eyed and flushed with gently parted lips and so Duncan had kissed him.

They had of course tumbled into bed then with the swiftness of long-denied desire. But they were taking the relationship slowly. Duncan thought that it was because they both knew that this had the possibility of becoming more than just a fling, more than an on-again, off-again romance. Still they spent more nights together than not.

Besides the sex though, things had changed remarkably little. Duncan realized then how much time they already spent together: movies and museums and dinner and Joe's and chess and just time being in each other's company. Things had changed so little that they hadn't even gotten around to telling Joe yet.

Duncan wanted to wait until he had nailed down just exactly what kind of relationship he and Methos had. And Methos…well the older immortal hadn't mentioned a thing about telling other people in typical paranoid form.

But now that he knew Methos in the biblical sense, Duncan discovered some things that he wanted, needed to understand about his lover.

Oh, their sex life was great. Methos was great in bed as one might expect of someone who has had 5000 years to practice. But despite that, the ancient immortal was oddly distant during sex, emotionally.

Methos seemed uncomfortable receiving pleasure in bed, tense and tight, and always turning the tables to pleasure Duncan instead. The ancient immortal didn't even like being looked at and admired; he was always turning his face away into the pillow, covering himself anytime they weren't actively engaged in sex. And Methos never seemed as distant as he did when Duncan was inside him.

It was Duncan's preference to be on top. It wasn't like he always had to be but Methos brought out oddly protective instincts in him. The ancient immortal could certainly take care of himself but Duncan got the feeling that the old man hadn't often been taken care of in five thousand years. Duncan believed that was why Methos always came to him, always camped out in his living space, stole his beer.

And Duncan enjoyed taking care of his lovers, of Methos, caressing him inside and out. But Methos didn't seem to enjoy it; he seemingly only did it for Duncan, using five thousand years of skill to bring the Highlander to the heights of ecstasy.

Course Methos hadn't seemed to enjoy being on top any more than being on bottom. And either way Methos was oddly quiet. Duncan wouldn't even know that Methos had an orgasm if he didn't feel the wetness.

So Duncan had devised a plan, a game, to introduce a little bdsm into their sex life. Once he had that long lean body tied to the bed, Methos would be forced to give into pleasure, forced to reveal what made the ancient man lose control. It would be good for Methos to relinquish control a little. Things however, did not go as planned.

Duncan had, as a gesture of goodwill, of trust, volunteered to be 'sub' first. These kinds of games were actually the Scot's favorite and he loved to be submissive to a strong male. He wasn't into humiliation or heavy pain or anything but he did like the feeling of being dominated occasionally.

And Methos was good. Duncan tried not to think too much about why Methos was so good at it. He wasn't going to sabotage this relationship by pretending the Horsemen didn't happen, but he wouldn't dwell on it either. And neither would Duncan deny himself something he found exciting just because of the long-forgotten past. Methos was who he was, the past was the past, and it had made Methos the strong fragile conundrum that the Highlander was falling in love with.

So Duncan had thoroughly enjoyed himself. Methos had the most amazing and powerful voice, telling the younger man how beautiful he was as the ancient had undressed him, making him feel cherished.

Then Methos had had Duncan kneel and masturbate in front of the older immortal who was still fully clothed, seated on the couch. Duncan's hands had felt thick and blunt, not at all like the ancient's long thin fingers as they skimmed across his broad chest and down through the wiry black hair to his thick erection. And Methos' voice had instructed him the whole way, telling Duncan exactly where and when and how to touch himself…and praising the younger immortal, always praising him.

And afterwards while Duncan was still shuddering and weak from his orgasm, Methos had actually drawn the Scot over his lap and spanked him with the ancient's open hand. Duncan was half-hard now just thinking about it.

The blows had been just hard enough to sting. Then Duncan had been pushed back onto the bed, and even Duncan's expensive sheets had rubbed against Duncan's still red behind.

Methos had had Duncan prepare himself with lubricant then, Duncan balancing awkwardly on one arm as he pressed the fingers of his other hand inside his opening, Methos' voice encouraging him the whole time. Roughly, Methos had flipped Duncan onto his stomach and then pulled the Highlander up to his knees. The old man had undressed behind him, where Duncan couldn't even see him.

Methos had taken Duncan long and slow, and hard and fast by turns, bringing Duncan to the edge several times before toppling him over into the most incredible orgasm Duncan could ever remember.

Duncan had passed out almost immediately afterward, flinging his exhausted limbs on top of his smaller partner and snuggling close to Methos in bliss.

The next morning he awoke with his nose buried in the back of his lover's neck, the fine hairs there tickling him. He had breathed in deeply, the smell of Methos and sweat and sex. Involuntarily his arms had tightened, waking the old man who had stretched, sensuously rubbing Duncan's morning erection in the process.

Then Methos had turned onto his stomach, spreading his thighs. It was their morning ritual of sorts. Duncan had quickly prepared and mounted his lover, reveling in Methos' warm willing body beneath him. He would swear that the ancient man could control the muscles of the entire passage, not just the sphincter.

Yes, their morning sex was good but it only strengthened Duncan's resolve that something had to be done. Methos had come, the proof had been sticky on Duncan's hand but he had orgasmed silently again. Methos never pushed Duncan for more or harder, always swiveling his hips for Duncan's enjoyment not his own. Methos was almost mechanical about it, panting more with effort than passion.

Oh, Duncan knew that Methos cared about him. He could feel it, the old man wanted to make the younger immortal happy, enjoyed that Duncan enjoyed the sex. But nothing more.

Duncan had turned then onto his back, gathering Methos in his arms so the old man was lying on his chest as Duncan had caught his breath to speak.

"Last night was amazing. I'd love to do it again." Duncan had purred. "I'd love to see you, chained to the bed writhing in pleasure."

Unsurprising to the younger immortal, Methos had stiffened in his arms, but Duncan had just rubbed his hands down the leanly muscled back. Until Methos had rolled away a little so he could look at Duncan.

Methos' eyes were wary, cautious. Duncan had thought that that was actually a good sign. If the old man was wary, it probably meant he was afraid, and Duncan had wanted to help Methos face his fear. Duncan had kept his own face hopeful and hopefully innocent.

"I play a little differently, Duncan."

Duncan's forehead had wrinkled in confusion and so Methos had elaborated. "I'm physically heavy."

Duncan had swallowed once, lifting his hand to trail his fingertips along the ridges of Methos' face. "Whatever makes you happy."

Those beautiful changing eyes had closed at his words, shuttering the ancient's emotions away. Methos only opened them again once Duncan had removed his hands.

"I have some toys I could bring over."

So it was that last night, Duncan had found himself in the dojo, spreading out tarp below a ring in the ceiling. Methos was showering as Duncan prepared.

Duncan had stripped down to black briefs and cautiously approached the duffel bag that Methos had brought.

The first item, he brought out had been a studded paddle. Duncan had smiled at that. The smile had quickly disappeared at the following items however.

The next item had been a whip. Not the cute, playful riding crop type whip that Duncan had. This was a bull whip at least twelve feet in length with a needle like tail. Next there had been a set of wicked looking knives and then a little pointed hammer for breaking bones. At that point, Duncan had considered calling the whole thing off.

But this was for Methos, he had reminded himself. As if conjured by Duncan's thoughts, the ancient immortal had appeared then in the doorway, clad only in a towel riding low on slim hips, his skin still dewy from the shower.

At a motion of Duncan's hand, Methos had begun to move forward, dropping his eyes to the floor immediately. Duncan had stripped the towel from his ancient lover before Methos dropped gracefully to his knees.

His heart beating a little faster, Duncan had fastened a black leather collar around the long elegant neck. The older immortal had appeared this way in many of the Highlander's fantasies and reality was no less stirring. The black had made Methos' skin seem even paler, luminescent, inviting comparisons to porcelain, alabaster, marble statues of Grecian youths.

Methos had, at that moment looked so fragile, so small and defenseless, and yet the man also looked so strong, muscular and undefeated. Duncan had both wanted to coddle the man and to dominate him.

It had been the paddle first. Duncan had Methos bend over with his hands flat on a weight bench.

At the first strike, Methos had grunted. The sound had encouraged Duncan, his next blows landing harder on the muscular buttocks. Except for that noise though, the ancient man had been silent. It was amazing to Duncan that his ministrations had made Methos erect, but the younger immortal had wanted the ancient to cry out, to lose control, to beg Duncan to take him.

So he had moved on. Methos' buttocks were an angry red as Duncan had pulled him over to the tarp by a wrist. All while Duncan bound and secured Methos' wrists over his head, the hazel eyes had stayed on the floor, reminding Duncan of his role in this 'game'.

The lash had fallen cautiously the first time, a long raised red welt appearing on the pale skin, another one forming before the first one was gone. Methos made neither sound nor movement to indicate either pain or encouragement.

Duncan found himself putting more and more of his strength behind the lash. He had wanted some kind of reaction from the ancient immortal, some kind of recognition that Methos wanted, no needed, loved Duncan as much as the Highlander loved Methos.

When the whip first broke Methos' skin, a shudder had run through the length of the older immortal's long, strained body. Duncan couldn't imagine how the man could discern the feel of blood flowing over the heated skin, covered in welts, but he had increased his efforts in response.

He didn't know for how long he had whipped Methos, but soon Duncan had found himself tired, breathing hard and splattered with blood that was not his own. Methos' beautiful back was then a sheet of blood. And still the ancient immortal had made no other movements or sounds.

Duncan couldn't take it anymore. He had unchained the other man, slowing the descent as Methos dropped to the floor. Methos' eyes were distant, not even aware of the other man, it had seemed. Duncan's own erection had died a long time ago, but Methos' cock still laid hard and heavy against the flat belly.

Duncan had swallowed Methos' erection, his only intention to bring the old man off quickly. It had taken a surprisingly long time considering how long Methos had been hard. It was the first time Duncan had brought his lover to orgasm that way. Normally Methos would deflect his attentions, either reversing their positions or rolling over and offering his backside.

Methos had recovered quickly, getting up and making his way back to the showers with surprisingly sure steps. Duncan had watched him go.

Duncan had put the old man's 'toys' back in the bag and then had rolled up the bloody tarp and stuffed it in a trash bag to be bleached at a later time.

He had joined Methos in the dojo's showers then. The ancient had solicitously washed his own blood off of Duncan without a word. And then Methos had backed the Highlander against a tiled wall and dropped to his knees.

Duncan had been surprised that he could become aroused after all that had happened but Methos was good, and perhaps Duncan had wanted to forget, to pretend everything was normal and lose himself in the wet heat of Methos' mouth.

Back upstairs, they had snuggled together in the bed; Duncan pressed firmly against Methos' back, one arm holding the ancient immortal tightly.

Duncan's thoughts had raced but Methos had slept soundly. Course Methos always slept. It must be some survival technique, to sleep whenever he could, in whatever situation. Still Duncan had always been honored that the world's oldest man slept soundly in his presence from the beginning, trusting the Highlander.

No, things had not gone as planned. And this morning, Methos had acted as usual, with nary a word about the previous night's activities. Duncan knew that he would not be able to do that to Methos again. Certainly that was not what Methos needed; the old man had seemed more distant, not less.

And he couldn't help but wonder how Methos had learned that. It was almost physically impossible to maintain an erection through severe pain, the ability something learned over a long time.

Surely Methos was just scared, as Duncan himself was. Afraid of committing to another immortal, of being with a single person perhaps for centuries. Afraid of loving another immortal and expecting centuries, only to have the Game wrench that future away. Afraid of being that vulnerable, of letting another person into every dark corner of his soul and risking rejection.

The phone interrupted Duncan's thoughts.

"MacLeod."

"Mac, is the old man there with you?" It was Joe, the bartender's voice sounding unnerved.

"No, actually he just left." Duncan wondered if the man didn't know more than he left on, after all he was a Watcher,

"Why, what's happened?"

"It's Cassandra…"

"No." Duncan swallowed heavily as the familiar weight of grief at the death of another loved one settled over him. He knew what Joe would say next so he cut the man off. "I have to call him."

Joe was still shouting at him as Duncan ended the call.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Please Review. I think I have a good idea but I'm not sure I'm writing it all that well. Do you think it's an interesting idea?

Methos found himself practically whistling as he gathered his things to leave the library where he had been working on a research article to beef up Adam Pierson's academic reputation. The old man couldn't remember ever being so happy.

He was in love.

He was an idiot. But that fact didn't make Methos any less happy to have woken up in the Highlander's bed that morning.

The ancient immortal indulged for a moment, remembering the look of ecstasy on MacLeod's face, the helpless cries of pleasure, the feel of Mac moving on top of him, within him, filling him.

The oldest immortal loved it, enjoyed giving MacLeod pleasure from his body. Methos knew that he hadn't, couldn't give Mac everything, everything that the younger immortal deserved, but he had given Mac something that he hadn't given anyone in a long time. It had been centuries, no more than a millennium since Methos had let anyone inside him, in more than one way.

But the ancient man also knew that it wouldn't last, that pain and sorrow were waiting in the wings for him.

Which brought Methos to thoughts of the previous night, he knew MacLeod hadn't enjoyed it, was disgusted by the whole thing, disgusted by him.

And how could Methos explain that he deserved the pain, that it was expected, that things had been too perfect, he had been too happy.

The afternoon sun blinded him for a moment as Methos stepped outside. His cell phone chirped as he powered it up on the way to his Volvo. Almost as soon as it was on the phone began to ring.

Speak of the devil, it was MacLeod. A smile broke out over the ancient man's face and he let it spread unhindered.

"Pierson."

"M…Adam, we need to talk. Joe told me about Cassandra."

Methos' breath caught in his chest. He hadn't expected for it to end so soon, he wasn't ready.

But he wasn't surprised. Methos may have quit the Watchers but he kept up with their reports, using a hidden back door to the system to check on any immortals in the area.

He had noticed the suspicious deaths that seemed to trail him, it had been going on for months now.

Mac started to speak again, but Methos cut him off. He didn't bother trying to plead his case, didn't waste his breath crying his innocence. MacLeod had no reason to trust him and Methos had lived too long to believe in justice…or mercy.

Methos said only one sentence, words he had never said to Duncan before but now they were the only words worth saying.

"I love you." He hung up.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Duncan was still staring dumbfounded at the phone in his hand when he heard the lift start up. He noted the absence of immortal presence in some far reach of his brain that was not currently involved in preventing his hand from throwing the phone at the nearest wall.

The sound of Joe's ambling gait approaching did not surprise the Highlander as he, with supreme effort, managed to place the phone back on its holder.

"What happened?"

Joe dropped into a chair, tossing a file onto the coffee table. Duncan sank onto the couch himself before reaching for it.

"It started three months ago in Paris. Remember when Adam went out of town…well he was at some academic conference…"

Duncan's eyes widened, both in response to the fact that this had been going on that long and that Methos was advancing 'Adam's' career without him knowing. He didn't even know Adam had a career or that Methos had finished his latest PhD. Joe's eyebrows only rose momentarily and then the man continued speaking.

"A building near the conference blew up, killing all the people inside. Afterwards I learned that there had been an immortal inside, dead. Permanently."

"The fire started because of the quickening, or was it to cover it up?"

Joe shrugged. "We don't know. There have been five deaths plus Cassandra's, resulting in dozens of mortal deaths and all occurred in Adam's vicinity."

Duncan stood up then, throwing the file down. "He didn't do it."

"Of course he didn't," Joe snapped. The Watcher glared at the still standing immortal for a moment before Joe's ire dissolved into a pensive frown. "Wait, you're not judging him, no indignant tirade about how little we know about him?"

The Highlander groaned and brought his hands up to his hips. Nice to know all his friends considered him a self-righteous bastard.

"I don't know everything about him, Joe, but I learned my lesson the last time. Actually I learned several lessons."

The mortal snorted. "Oh yeah, and what might those lessons be?"

Duncan shook his head sadly. "'The only way to know if you can trust a man is to trust him'. I should have remembered that looks can be deceiving…"

Joe laughed out loud. "Particularly in the case of a five thousand year old man who looks like a twenty-five year old bookworm?"

The immortal smiled back. "But most important, I should have remembered to never believe anything that Methos says."

That only made Joe laugh harder.

"You know it's strange that a man who claims to be entirely self-serving would inspire such loyalty."

"You know, MacLeod, I don't think I ever met that man."

Duncan laughed then. Then a thought made him sober again. "Joe, about Methos and I…we've become…more than friends." God, why was this so hard?

Joe sobered as well. The man looked shocked. "What are you saying? That you and he…"

"We've been sleeping together."

Gasp. "What? Like you're dating?"

Damn, trust Joe to get right to the heart of the matter. "I wouldn't say dating."

"Well what would you say?!" Joe's reply was suddenly harsh.

Duncan heard again Methos' voice over the phone, his last words before hanging up. "I love him."

"You better."

Now it was the immortal's turn to be taken aback. He did not understand the Watcher's reaction.

"Oh come on MacLeod." Joe's voice softened as he continued. "Anyone could see how he feels about you, but if you don't feel the same…this won't be easy and if you hurt him..." The mortal's voice had dropped to a warning.

Amazing. Joe was questioning his intentions towards _Methos_, acting protective of the old bastard. "We have to find him first and convince him to give our relationship a chance."


	3. Chapter 3

Methos didn't know where to begin. He had moved into a cheap hotel in a truly terrible neighborhood under a name he had made up on the spot. What was he still doing in Seacouver?

He should have left town immediately. His relationship with MacLeod was over, with Joe, with the Watchers…all gone. Finding the person responsible wouldn't redeem him in their eyes, the damage was done in Bordeaux. He needed to move on, start over some place very far away. So why hadn't he left yet? Why was he even considering hunting down whoever had ruined this life for him?

He knew why, he had done nothing but stick his neck out for MacLeod since the day he had met the other immortal, running away only to return as if drawn by supercharged magnets. He didn't want to leave.

But he had no leads whatsoever. He had already tried to find out who was behind these attacks. Cassandra had been his first suspect and she had even been in the area of all of the attacks but Methos had refused to confront the woman.

If she had been behind the attacks, it was not his place to stop her anyway. She was only what he had made her. Cassandra had had a happy life once, before he had come along. Methos wondered sometimes if he had had a family when he was a child, like Cassandra and MacLeod. The blurry memories he could remember did not make it seem likely. Even Kronos had remembered his childhood, brutal though it had been, with fondness.

But that was beside the point now. Cassandra was dead and he had no idea who would want to separate him from his friends, get him alone, vulnerable.

There was only one thing to do. Be his own bait. If he made himself visible, hopefully whoever it was would come get him. If not, well hopefully he'd have made himself enough of a target to keep MacLeod safe.

He left the motel room then, planning to head to a really expensive restaurant and have a really great meal…and pay with a credit card in the name of Adam Pierson. Except that on the way to his car, he was hit in the back of the head with what felt like a two-by-four. There was no presence.

Methos awoke in darkness. Unsurprised, he became aware slowly of his situation. He was naked, lying on a cold cement floor, his arms and legs bound and also secured to the floor. No surprise there either.

Suddenly a light turned on, blinding the ancient immortal for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, he quickly surveyed his environment. He was in what must be a warehouse, not very original. There seemed to be literally nothing else in the room, nothing besides a very large man coming towards him carrying a duffel bag.

Methos didn't recognize the man and he wasn't an immortal. He was however the size of Goliath, with a buzz cut and dark eyes, dead eyes.

He dropped the bag and it landed with a loud thud beside the prone immortal. The sound reverberated in the empty space. Methos forced himself to relax, to breathe calmly. It was obvious what was coming. Someone wanted Methos to suffer and now the physical suffering would commence.

But whoever it was didn't really know _him_. Physical suffering wouldn't break him, better men had tried and failed. Methos barely felt the first cut of the knife.

He didn't know how long the tortures continued, he was so far away inside his mind that time seemingly had no meaning. He did know that the man had become increasingly upset by his lack of response, infuriated each time that Methos succumbed to death.

This time when he revived, Methos knew that something was different. His position had been changed; his knees had been secured to his chest and stretched wide. He started at the knowledge of what was coming.

The man laughed, a flat noise, at Methos' sudden alarm that surely showed on his expressive face. The sound of a zipper lowering seemed gruesomely loud in the enormous space.

Methos struggled, a useless gesture, but he couldn't seem to quell the panic rising to choke him. This wasn't unexpected, it was a common way to not only injure a prisoner but also humiliate. And it certainly wasn't the first time it had happened to him, though it had been a while, five hundred years perhaps.

But now it was different. His mind flashed onto a vision of MacLeod. He had given himself to that man; Mac was the only one he wanted inside him. He didn't want the memory of Duncan making love to him driven out by pain.

He turned his face to the side as the man leaned over him, but the man turned his head back forward. "I want you to know where you are, know that this is not your lover…not that there'll be any doubt." There was that oddly flat laugh again.

Methos looked the man in the face, not wanting to but needing to look, to know who was behind all this. The man's eyes were still flat, as if he weren't really in control, as if he were a zombie…

There was no more time to consider the matter as the man roughly thrust inside. The ancient immortal let out a single choked cry before falling silent again. It wasn't the burning, tearing pain, Methos hated the man's breath on his face, hated the fullness of the man in his body and the weight over him, hated the pleasure that contorted the man's face and quickened his breath.

By the time it was over, Methos felt like he wanted to vomit. He wanted to crawl in a hole and never come out but he was still on the floor, spread open; he couldn't stop shaking or get a full breath…then the man lifted his own sword over him.

He was not ready to die, not even now. It was more than fear; it was will, a ferocious passion for all the unlimited tomorrows with all their limitless possibilities. A passion that MacLeod had given back to him just when he thought he had lost it.

But the man just laughed at him again. "I'm not going to kill you yet." He knelt down between Methos' spread thighs again and pressed the hilt of the sword to the now healed but bloody entrance there. He pressed it in slowly.

"Is this how your lover fucks you? Is Duncan gentle?" The words caused Methos to choke on his own breath and the thrusts became less gentle, slamming into him, rocking his whole body with their force and controlling his breathing. He knew that his insides were completely shredded.

Then it was removed. And replaced with the blade. It pressed in, not stretching him, but simply slicing through, advancing slowly until it reached his chest cavity. He died choking on his own blood, thinking only that being raped with his own sword was a fittingly poetic ending to his relationship with MacLeod.

When he awoke that time, Methos was fairly astonished to be breathing again. A detestable feeling however familiar it was. It was after the astonishment that he realized that he was no longer bound and he stood up. His body was fatigued but intact, dried blood flaked off his skin as he moved.

His attacker was laying on the floor not far away, in a dark puddle of blood, the gun in his hand. And the man's jeans were still open, blood drying on his now quiescent member. Methos' sword lay nearby, covered in blood and other bodily fluids from the hilt to the tip. He almost left it there, but then he felt the ghost of an immortal presence, grating like sandpaper on his strained nerves.

He picked it up and walked forward, toward a door. There was only one person whom it could be…

Instead of ending up outside, Methos walked into another large warehouse area. Cassandra was already there, waiting for him. The ancient man wondered momentarily at the picture he must make, naked, covered in his own blood, holding a sword he'd been violated with and crouching in a defensive posture. He hoped that she was enjoying the view.

Her voice was calm as she strode forward to meet him, her own sword already raised. "Give up Methos!"

The ancient immortal only shook his head in response. If she thought that he had been demoralized into giving up his head, she was wrong. "There is only person to whom I shall relinquish my quickening, Cassandra, and it's not you."

"Duncan!" She screamed as she brought her sword over her shoulder to slice down at him. "He doesn't love you, I've shown him what you are! He doesn't want your filthy quickening inside him!"

Methos parried her thrusts easily, keeping his cool. "Doesn't matter." If he had to wait until the end, until he and Duncan were the only immortals left, Methos would find a way. MacLeod was the only one who would have his power.

The hilt of his sword was slick in his hand as he fought, staying on the defensive. He wanted to conserve his breath, but he couldn't help talking, asking why.

"Why involve mortals, Cassandra? Why did you kill them?"

"Why not, Methos?!'" Her voice was venomous. "You killed indiscriminately!"

The ancient immortal shook his head. That was a different time, a different world, one in which life was violent, raiders were common and slavery more so. She had options, friends to turn to, had grown up with morals… "In your hate, you have become Death!"

He disarmed her then. She was clumsy, no match for him really, the woman must have been counting on emotional turmoil to give her an advantage.

It was then that he felt another presence enter the room. Methos didn't need to look up to know who was walking in but he looked anyway.

MacLeod's eyes were large and dark, his posture tense. Methos knew that Mac would never forgive him even as he drew the sword back for the final swing. It wasn't about vengeance, or saving more innocent people from death, if he let her go, she wouldn't stop and then MacLeod would be forced to interfere…better to let the Highlander hate him than have to take the head of another friend.

He swung, Cassandra's head hitting the ground with a portentous thud.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: This is for Rei Tamashi because she asked me to hurry up.

Duncan swore silently as he watched Cassandra's death. He understood and he wasn't surprised but still he wished it could have been different.

He watched the quickening assault his naked lover, his thoughts still racing over the circumstances that had led them here. He and Joe had spent that first day looking for any hotel reservations in any name vaguely resembling any of Methos' known personas to no avail.

The next day, they went to each of the hotels in person, hoping that Duncan would sense the ancient immortal. He didn't, but he did notice Methos' car. There had been a note inside leading them to this warehouse, a note from Cassandra.

They had found the dead body of the mortal man, next to an enormous pool of tacky blood and ropes. It had been obvious what had occurred. Cassandra's revenge. The blood on the dead mortal's groin made Duncan furious.

Even if she did have a right to justice, she didn't have a right to do this. Methos had saved Cassandra's life more than once during the whole Horsemen fiasco, but if she wanted to challenge Methos that was her right. But this…torturing, raping the ancient man, putting Methos' friends through this, killing mortals and random immortals…

So he watched the death of his friend by his current lover with mixed feelings. But it didn't compare to his feelings on what happened next.

Methos dropped to his knees as the quickening ended and Duncan moved forward, wanting to comfort, to hold him. He was surprised when Methos threw his sword away like it would bite him.

"Do it." Duncan didn't understand Methos' words. He reached down to help his lover stand, but the older immortal simply shrugged off his hand. The Highlander stared down at the ancient man wondering what was going on, why Methos was still kneeling before him with his head bowed.

"Do it! Kill me, take my head, I deserve it!"

Duncan took off his coat and carefully placed if over the older immortal's broad shoulders before kneeling too. His hands were busy buttoning the coat as he said quietly, "I know you didn't want to kill her Methos."

Despairing green eyes looked up at him in surprise.

"The attacks wouldn't have stopped if you didn't, I would have had to…"

"How did you know it was her?"

Duncan's answering smile was sad. "I always knew, Methos. I would have told you…"

"If I hadn't hung up on you?" Methos' eyes filled with tears then and the ancient immortal dropped his head and shook it as if in disbelief. "I'm still glad you weren't involved…"

Duncan rubbed his lover's arm before standing to retrieve the Ivanhoe. Methos refused to take it.

"Methos this wasn't your fault, this is your sword…"

"I don't want it! I will get another one."

Duncan decided not to argue. He gave the bloody sword to Joe to keep. Methos would need some time to calm down before he'd want it back, he supposed. He couldn't help reaching a hand out to lie on the older immortal's back, leading him out of the warehouse and back out into the night.

That night was tense as were the days following it. Methos refused to talk about what had happened, what he had been through. He said it wasn't important and glared at Duncan reproachfully every time the younger immortal attempted to ask if the ancient man was alright. Duncan didn't know why he bothered. It was obvious that Methos was not alright.

Methos was silent, as if afraid of what would come out if he opened his mouth, but his eyes spoke volumes. The ancient immortal's eyes were a mossy brown as if the light had gone out of them, as if they were looking inward on some past pain.

The ancient immortal went to bed early and got up late, curling on his side of the bed as if trying to get as far away from Duncan as possible. Methos spent his day reading on Duncan's couch, not leaving the loft at all and barely eating. Duncan was certain that the only reason Methos even came to the dinner table was to avoid an argument.

Duncan attempted to touch his lover, to console him with hugs and tender touches but Methos adamantly refused them all. The Highlander knew a little about the aftereffects of torture like that and thought that the older immortal just needed time, that people healed in their own way. At least Methos had not run away, that meant that he wanted things to work out between them, for things to return to normal.

So when Methos approached him, Duncan thought it was a good sign, that Methos was reaching out, seeking comfort from his lover. Methos had caught Duncan watching him again, the younger immortal knew that Methos noticed his attention, but he couldn't help watching the ancient man with worry.

Suddenly, as if making a decision, Methos had stood and crossed the room, kissing the Highlander and backing him into the nearest wall. The kiss was short, too short for all that Duncan wanted to convey in it, his love and desire and hope for them. Duncan wanted to crush the lanky form of his lover to his own body and…but Methos had dropped to his knees and had Duncan's trousers open before the younger immortal had really collected himself.

And Methos hadn't let up. All thoughts in Duncan's head quickly disappeared until all he could feel was the old man's lips and tongue and heat.

Afterwards, Methos had stood and Duncan didn't see anything different. The eyes were still distant and Duncan knew without looking that his lover was not in any way aroused. He reached for the ancient man but Methos moved out of his reach, shaking his head.

But Duncan wouldn't take no for an answer this time. He reached again, capturing his ancient lover and backing him toward the bed. If he could only show Methos, touch him with all the tenderness Duncan felt, all the love. He stripped the clothes from the older immortal, not noticing then how often Methos' hands kept getting in his way, hindering his efforts, or how suspiciously liquid his lover's eyes became, how still the old man held himself.

He looked up only when he heard Methos say his name, "Duncan," and then hand him the bottle of lubricant. Preparing his lover thoroughly, Duncan did notice Methos had turned his head into the pillow, his eyes closed, but that was not all that unusual.

Methos' eyes opened when he began to press inside. Duncan pulled out a little and then thrust all the way in…and froze, stunned by pain.

His lover's entire body had clenched, painfully trapping his erection. Methos' head was thrown back, white teeth biting his bottom lip and he was staring at the ceiling as if seeing something else. Duncan knew then that it was a flashback.

He called out Methos' name, rubbed his lover's belly soothingly but it continued. Duncan wondered if it was his torture at the hands of Cassandra's mortal Methos was seeing or something else entirely, some other time.

Finally Methos came out of it, relaxing his muscles, but quaking and breathing harshly. Long-fingered hands were on his chest pushing him away and Methos' voice was as close to pleading as Duncan had ever heard it. "No, stop."

He pulled out carefully, he would have done it sooner but it would have hurt Methos, the way he was frozen. The younger immortal simply watched with shame and guilt as the old man turned away from him and curled in on himself. Duncan felt as if _he_ had raped Methos.

But then the old man had simply gotten up and fled to the bathroom. Duncan waited outside, knowing that he had to give the man space but not wanting to. When Methos came out, he simply shook his head in answer to the questions crowding Duncan's face.

They lay in bed then as they had lain for the last few nights, together but so far apart they might have been worlds away. Eventually Methos' breathing evened out, but Duncan lay awake, thinking. He had made a lot of assumptions about his lover that he was now regretting.

When he thought about the earlier blow job, he realized that Methos had not done it because the older immortal had wanted to. Methos had done it because he wanted to please Duncan. But the thing that really stood out was that it was just like all of the blow jobs Methos had ever given him, like all of their sexual encounters.

Duncan didn't know if Methos always acted like that, he hadn't really seen the old man with a lover. Maybe it was because Duncan was male or immortal or because Duncan knew _Methos_ rather than a persona, but Methos was not acting like a lover, he was acting like a whore, like he didn't know what it was to be touched with love.

And that brought him to his last realization, that this would be a long and involved process. Duncan couldn't just slay the dragon and put the monsters to rest. This last incident may have been the straw that broke the camel's back but Methos had been bearing the load for a long time.

How did one re-teach a person to think about sex and their own body? Duncan thought about words that Methos had once spoken to him, "Killing was all I knew." What if rape from one end or the other was all the ancient man had known, now taking pains to please his lovers physically but not knowing how to 'make love'. \

He knew it would be tough, Methos obviously didn't think that there was a problem and certainly wouldn't want to deal with it. But it would be worth it because he had meant it when he had said the words love to the old man.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: I know at this late date, sorry doesn't even begin to cover it, but I am sorry that it has taken me so long. So many things have conspired to distract me…_

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed, apparently others do think this is an interesting concept…_

When he awoke the next morning, Duncan was not surprised that it was to the sound of Methos preparing to leave. He was surprised that the old man was even attempting to sneak out; immortals were by necessity light sleepers.

The ancient immortal looked up as Duncan approached, but quickly dropped his eyes back to the floor.

"You're awake."

"You're leaving."

Methos let out a huge sigh then, sounding for all the world as if he were a grandfather speaking to a recalcitrant child. "We can't be together right now."

Duncan was not put off. "Sex isn't that important…"

"Not important?!" Methos' voice was all outraged pride before his whole countenance softened and he continued in a defeated tone, "You can't even touch me."

"Methos, you didn't like for me to touch you before."

"What?! Of course I did," Methos had changed again, now attempting to comfort his lover. "I love touching you, pleasuring you…"

"Yes, pleasing _me_. But I want to please you. I want to touch you and tease you, I want to make you lose control, have you writhing underneath me desperate for my touch and then hear you cry out my name when you orgasm."

Methos' eyes had gotten large with bewilderment. Duncan however was not surprised that his lover had not realized that there was a problem. How long had Methos been like this? Had there been no time in his early life when someone had touched him out of love, that Methos had not been suspicious of?

The ancient man sputtered. "I didn't know you felt that way, Duncan. I could try…what am I saying, it's too late."

"It's not too late, Methos. It'll just take time, give me that much…"

Methos broke down then, like a man at the end of his rope. The ancient immortal had lowered his head but tears streamed down his cheeks before long-fingered hands covered his face and Methos sank down the wall to the floor.

"I want to, I want to stay with you."

"Then do," Duncan whispered. He reached out a hand to Methos, wanting to physically wipe away the anguish on his lover's face. Methos however turned his face away from the touch.

"Don't. I don't want your pity."

"I don't pity you, Methos."

Duncan had only wanted to comfort the older immortal, but Methos' reaction was a potent reminder that the ancient man was suspicious of all physical contact…and perhaps for good reason.

The Highlander didn't want to ask, didn't want to know. What little he had seen of Methos' most recent experience already haunted him, but he knew that Methos needed to talk about it. And Duncan knew that he couldn't afford any more misunderstandings.

"Can you tell me what happened to you?"

The question was left open-ended on purpose. Duncan didn't know whether Methos would tell him about Cassandra's kidnapping or the ancient past…if Methos decided to tell him anything at all as Methos was currently looking up through his eyelashes at the younger immortal, as if surreptitiously measuring Duncan's trustworthiness.

A decision was apparently made as Methos began to speak, still not looking at Duncan openly.

"It wasn't the pain, I couldn't even feel…" Methos' voice trailed off and the ancient man chanced a glance at Duncan's face as if willing the other man to understand without further explanation. Duncan nodded encouragingly, the word 'disassociation' coming to him.

Methos' eyes returned to the wooden floor before he continued. "But then…I felt _him_…and it wasn't you," large green eyes filled with tears and Methos' fuller bottom lip trembled, but the ancient man continued speaking as if afraid to stop as if he would never be able to start again. "I just, I chose _you,_ I wanted only you, only you…"

Duncan was both flattered and saddened by his partner's words, flattered that the world's oldest man, this enigma had fallen for him, but saddened that that love had left Methos open to even more pain. And the more that he thought about it, the more that Duncan was amazed that Methos could still fall in love at all.

He desperately wanted to hold Methos, but he restrained himself. Duncan had always preferred showing his love, saying physically what he found difficult to express in words, but right now, he needed to find the right words.

"I'm here, Methos. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere. I love you and I won't forsake you and I know you don't believe me or understand right now, but you will. I promise you will."

Methos swiped at his eyes with curled hands, an almost eye roll at Duncan's words. "Need I remind you, Highlander, that you can't protect me." The ancient man's characteristic droll tone was back in place, effectively telling Duncan that the time for emotional heart-to-hearts was over.

Still Duncan's answer was serious. "But I can be there for you, to help you."

Methos gave the other immortal a surprised, exposed look, before covering it again in his patented neutral expression. Duncan let it go, assuming that Methos needed a little time to collect himself, to pick up the pieces so he wouldn't feel so vulnerable. The Scotsman scooted back on the floor, giving Methos enough room to escape back to the couch and the ancient immortal's book.

Duncan himself moved over to the computer. Methos was attempting to look painfully nonchalant, but the younger immortal could feel the older man's eyes furtively following his movements. Duncan forced himself not to look over, not to hover over his lover. Besides he had some research to do.

Obviously Methos couldn't go to a normal therapist and without Sean, Duncan knew of no other immortal psychologist. He would have to rely on the internet and whatever information he might have garnered from Sean's quickening. As scared as the Highlander was about making thing worse, seeing as he was not an expert, he knew he had to try, and he had an idea about where to start. Tomorrow, he would make reservations from the dojo office.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: Look another chapter already! I'm being good, so you be good and review_.

"Come on, we're going out."

Methos looked up from the book he was reading as he sprawled on the couch and Duncan had to steel himself from the emotion in those hazel eyes. The oldest immortal looked betrayed, like he couldn't believe that Duncan would ask that of him.

Duncan dropped the nonchalant act in a hurry. Everything depended on convincing Methos to trust him, on the ancient man believing that Duncan was on his side.

He moved then, kneeling in front of the couch so that he could look into Methos' eyes without towering over the other man.

"We're going someplace private; it'll be just you and me, ok? Please come with me?"

Duncan did not say 'come because you can't stay on this couch forever,' however much he wanted to. When Duncan himself was upset, he had a tendency to throw himself into working or exercising, often using it to avoid discussions with people he was upset with. Methos internalized everything, flogging himself mentally.

It particularly worried Duncan that he had not seen Methos practice with a sword since it happened. Not that Duncan had ever seen Methos practice or exercise even though he knew that the other man was physically fit. And Methos still wouldn't take back his Ivanhoe. Instead the ancient man kept an extra broadsword of Duncan's nearby.

Methos sat up then, mask of indifference firmly in place as if it didn't matter at all to him that he was going to leave the loft for the first time since Cassandra's death.

"Fine, let's go."

-- -- -- -- -- --

Duncan led Methos quickly through the lobby of the Ritz Carlton. He had had Joe check them in already and bring the room key to the dojo, because he wanted Methos to have to spend as little time as possible around other people.

The younger immortal didn't need to lay a hand on his lover to feel the tension throughout the other man's lanky form.

Fortunately they caught an empty elevator and then Duncan was closing the door to their room behind them.

Duncan watched Methos as the eldest immortal coolly surveyed the room. It was a nice room, he knew: huge soft bed, large sitting area, fully stocked bar. Still the younger immortal also knew that just being in an unfamiliar and thus 'unsafe' place was setting the other man's nerves on edge.

But the loft didn't have a bathtub and hopefully this was the first step to getting Methos back into society.

Duncan set down the duffel-bag he had stuffed in the T-bird and followed Methos over to where the ancient man had sprawled onto the beige couch.

"Get up Methos, you didn't see the best part," Duncan couldn't keep the anticipatory smile off his face. It felt romantic, even though he knew they were not having sex tonight, not even if Methos made a move.

The younger immortal led his perturbed partner into the enormous bathroom and waved his arm in a poor parody of Vanna White.

"Wow. It's a bathtub," Methos deadpanned. "MacLeod, what is the point…?"

Methos fell silent as Duncan's countenance became serious. "Methos, please, just try."

The ancient man's young face was also serious as he nodded his assent. Duncan smiled gently in response.

"You're going to take a bath," the Highlander announced.

Duncan almost laughed as his lover's face first transformed into bewildered outrage, but then the sharp features dissolved into a pained expression.

"Duncan, I…"

"You, Methos. You're going to take a bath alone."

Now Methos' expression was pure puzzlement and a little bit like a man almost out of patience so Duncan explained as best he could.

"I want you to do some things that make you feel good, comfortable in your own skin."

With a condescending look, Methos replied, "I have been alive for five thousand years, MacLeod. I'm as comfortable in here as a person can get."

"No, you've just had five thousand years to get stuck in your way of thinking. You know your body and you use it as a tool, even sexually, but you don't listen to it, you don't trust it."

Duncan worried that he was expecting Methos to act too much as a modern man. The psychology of immortals was very difficult because psychology by definition is culturally constructed. It is based on what is 'normal' for each society. But immortals lived outside society and had to adapt to new society after new society. And no one had had to adapt more than Methos.

"But what if I can't change, can't become what you want? What if I'm too damaged?"

"Don't think about what I want, Methos. I'm not expecting you to change overnight and neither should you."

Duncan reached over and started the water for the bath. "Now you're going to take a bath, and, yes, I am pouring in bath oil, and I am going to go watch television."

The Scotsman reached out a hand to Methos' still tense shoulder, unsurprised when Methos attempted to move out of range. "And Methos, I am promising you now, that I will not touch you sexually until we have discussed it and both decided that we're ready. But I will be touching you."


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: Thanks so much for the reviews!! As always they really mean a lot, I mean look...Another Update!!

Methos glared at the bathwater as the door closed. What was he supposed to do now? He felt like a fool, oddly self-conscious despite that he was alone in the now steamy bathroom.

Very deliberately, the ancient immortal removed his clothes, dropping each piece onto the seat of the one chair in the room.

He hesitated only a second before removing his pants and briefs in one move. Methos had never felt comfortable naked and he didn't understand people who did. Presumably those people had never had their body viewed as a piece of property.

He lowered himself into the steaming water, enjoying the feel of it despite himself. The tub was long enough to accommodate his legs stretched out in front of him and deep enough that the water reached his armpits while sitting up.

Methos slid down until the water reached his neck. The oil made his skin slippery and the smell was of lime and verbena. The whole experience reminded the ancient immortal of the Roman baths.

That was an interesting time. Methos had just escaped from the Horsemen and he was still half-feral but desperate to learn their ways, to become a citizen, a _person_, the master of his own destiny. In the army he worked his way up Roman society. He learned how to eat, converse, dress, philosophize, and even how to have sex, how to please a woman and then a man.

Roman sexuality was divided into active and passive participants, the penetrated and the penetrator, no matter the gender of the parties involved. A Roman citizen was never 'passive' and that suited Methos just fine.

It was so different from what he had known before. What little Methos remembered from the time before his first quickening was pain and fear and humiliation. He remembered the first time he wanted to touch and be touched and how terribly that had turned out, how that feeling had betrayed him.

After that he was in and out of slavery, in and out of cities, rural villages, and nomadic societies. When he was out of slavery, he often found himself pushed into 'marriages' by the society's elders, with women he cared for but didn't love.

He remembered the pity on their varied faces when he flinched away from their touch. Methos did his duty to them, nothing more, though he knew it would not lead to children.

And then the Horsemen. It began as simply another enslavement, the fact that his masters were also immortals only mildly surprising to Methos. It was _he _who had surprised _them_, surprised them when Caspian could not break him through pain. That's when Kronos took another look at their immortal captive.

How could he explain to Duncan that the world really was different, cruel? He treated captives as he had been treated and all the while Methos had felt half relieved that he was the master this time and half excited, excited to be the one with power, excited to make them feel what he had felt. But for them there was an ending, at least until Cassandra…

How long was he supposed to sit in here anyway? Methos rubbed his hands up and down his slick legs. He knew what most other men would be doing in this situation, he thought glancing down at his quiescent member. Methos abandoned that idea immediately though. It wasn't that the ancient immortal didn't feel desires, he was just too used to suppressing them, too afraid to give into them.

With a sigh, Methos stepped out of the bath. If he hadn't stayed in long enough, Duncan would just have to deal.

He slipped on the fluffy bathrobe that Duncan had pointed out for him to wear. That was nice, it was soft and full length. He felt the strengthening of his emotional walls just by being covered.

The sight of Duncan waiting for him on the bed though, brought back some of his anxiety. The man obviously had something else planned.

Duncan stood and smiled at him and Methos couldn't help but be happy to be the receiving end. Methos sat on the bed where Duncan indicated, anxious again as the Highlander sat closed beside him.

Involuntarily, Methos flinched as Duncan's hand moved toward his face. With effort, he stilled himself, letting his lover's strong, blunt fingers move through his hair.

"What do you feel when I touch you?"

What kind of question was that? What kind of answer was Duncan expecting? For once, Methos attempted the truth, it was the least of what he could do for his lover at this point.

"Uncomfortable." Duncan just nodded like he understood. Methos was fairly sure the younger immortal did not understand and for that he was grateful.

"What do you think I want you to feel?"

"I don't know. You touch me because you want to."

Methos knew his answer had come out harsher than he had intended, but he didn't know what Duncan wanted from him. Still he felt chastened by Duncan's saddened expression.

But Duncan just nodded again and smiled. It was a small smile though, as if he were making himself do it.


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's Note: So this would have been posted sooner had I not been busy evacuating from the city of New Orleans. I still haven't gotten to go back but I do have the internet where I'm staying now. Anyway so in this chapter I changed to an omniscient POV so that I could explain the thoughts of both Duncan and Methos._

Duncan began to massage his lover's hands. Methos had beautiful hands, long fingered strong hands. He could remember staring at those hands before, before their 'relationship' began. He had stared at them as Methos drummed his fingers on the bar, as the older immortal gripped a beer bottle, as those fingers traced patterns in the condensation. Then Duncan had wondered how those fingers would feel on his body. Now he knew, knew the pleasure those hands could create.

Methos stared down at Duncan massaging his left hand quizzically. The younger immortal noticed and his smile became a little wider as he teased, "Haven't you had your hands massaged before?"

Methos scowled. "Of course, usually by slaves. I don't want you to act like that."

The younger immortal shook his head. Methos had had such different experiences, how would Duncan ever find common ground? How could he show Methos that touch could be pleasurable, that touch could be more than just painful or even sexual. Touch can demonstrate comfort, affection…love.

Duncan lifted his lover's left hand up to his lips, placing a kiss on the older immortal's palm.

Methos smiled knowingly then, thinking that they were moving into more familiar territory despite the Highlander's earlier words concerning sex. He didn't begrudge Duncan the lie though, it was obvious that Duncan was trying, that he wanted to make this work.

So Methos thought that he should do the same, try. Besides, surely there had been enough time now, surely he had stuffed the memories back down, all he had to do was stay present this time. He could do that, for Duncan.

Duncan had lifted his head and was looking up at his lover's face in concern when Methos kissed him. For a moment Duncan couldn't think, could only feel the long-missed sensation of his lover's lips on his own, reveling in the familiar passion that those lips evoked.

And then Duncan came to his senses. He knew exactly what the other man was doing now, knew that Methos was not feeling the same passion he felt.

The younger immortal pulled back, away from Methos' enticing heat. The look on Methos' face almost made him regret that decision though. Duncan could see the pain at the assumed rejection.

Moving to counter it, Duncan lifted the hand he still cradled in his own thicker hands to his lips again.

"We're not ready yet."

Methos just stared quizzically at him, so he elaborated.

"I told you that we wouldn't do anything sexual until we were ready, and we won't be ready until you accept touches that are non-sexual."

The ancient immortal could feel the frown lines between his eyebrows as he contemplated that answer. He didn't understand it though. What were touches that weren't sexual, that didn't demonstrate possession, that weren't used to humiliate or bring pain?

Duncan didn't know how better to explain his intentions. How do you teach a person to accept love? He certainly knew that Methos felt love, showed love, gave love.

"Just relax and feel what I'm doing."

Methos tried. Duncan's hands did relax him, but he couldn't seem to keep at bay the feelings of confusion, of unease. He couldn't stop worrying about Duncan's intentions, about having to perform sexually, about giving into the feeling of comfort that the younger immortal's touch seemed to intimate.

Eventually it was over and Methos watched Duncan stand with trepidation, standing himself at his lover's gesture.

Duncan looked at his lover standing there in the large bathrobe. It made Methos look so small, young and fragile. The man was obviously discomfited, almost drawing in on himself as if to disappear.

He pulled the covers back from the bed, holding them up.

"Get in. Bedtime."

Methos stared at him with annoyance, confusion on his expressive features.

"Without the robe. Don't worry, I'll shut my eyes."

The green eyes rolled heavenward, despite that he was grateful not to have Duncan staring at him. Quickly he shrugged out of the robe, dropping it to the floor and climbing into the bed.

Duncan opened his eyes and smiled. Methos looked so adorable as he tucked the ancient man in. Not that he would ever say that to his lover's face…at least not for a while.

Methos hated to admit it, but the bed was ridiculously comfortable and he enjoyed the feeling of being surrounded, of being secure…cared for. Still as he lay in the bed, he felt…odd. He was naked underneath the comforting weight of the blankets and it was kind of nice. He felt the soft silkiness of the blankets all over his nakedness while still feeling protected.

Then Duncan moved and Methos was suddenly overcome with dread. He didn't want the other man in the bed with him while he was naked, even if Duncan had promised nothing sexual would happen.

The Highlander knew what Methos was thinking when the look of sudden panic came over the other man's features.

"I'm going to sleep on the couch, Methos," he murmured the words against the ancient man's skin as he bent down to kiss Methos' forehead. "Goodnight."

Methos watched as Duncan moved away, to make up the folding couch as a bed for the other immortal. He wanted to be near Duncan even though he knew that as soon as the other man got close, the proximity would make him anxious. Methos just felt conflicted. He knew that before he would be comfortable with Duncan, he would first have to be comfortable with himself again.


	9. Chapter 9

That was the real beginning of their relationship in Duncan's mind. They started to venture outside the apartment slowly. At first they went everywhere together; it soothed both of their nerves to do so.

They went out to the grocery store and a coffee shop and then, finally in Duncan's opinion, they went to Joe's bar. Methos was noticeably uncomfortable around the mortal and it infuriated the ancient man. Joe was one of the most understanding persons Methos had ever met and he had always enjoyed the blues man's company even after he was revealed as the legendary oldest man. But he hated that Joe had seen what had occurred at the warehouse, hated the _knowing _look in the other man's eyes.

But he liked Joe, liked the mortal enough that he didn't want to just run away. So he persevered.

Duncan was pleased, pleased that his lover was trying, that he wasn't running away, that after five thousand years of life and loss that Methos could still be moved by friendship…and love.

And Methos became more and more independent again, going off on his own to the library and book stores and such. But they continued to live together. Duncan didn't ask Methos to move in and Methos didn't mention leaving. It was an unspoken arrangement, better that way, without promises.

Duncan didn't touch Methos in public, assuming that public displays of affection would be too far, too much for the ancient man. No in public, Duncan just stood protectively close, close enough for anyone paying attention to know that they were together. Joe never spoke about the change in their relationship to Methos, but he did acknowledge it. The mortal would talk, acknowledging that he knew they would always leave together, that they could both be reached at the loft, that both men were unavailable to any other interested parties.

In private, however, Duncan made a point to be near Methos and to touch him. He tried not to smother the other man, tried not to hover. He thought he was succeeding. When they were both reading in the evenings, he would sit by his lover on the couch instead of sitting in his chair.

Duncan would often stroke his hand along the back of the other man's neck then. In the car, he would rest his hand on Methos' thigh or stroke his fingers over the other man's hand. He rubbed Methos' back when they fixed dinner in the kitchen and laid his arm over Methos when they were sleeping.

Methos got over his initial perturbation at the affection and it stopped being an issue. Methos didn't respond with his own touches or lean into Duncan, not yet at least.

That's what Duncan was thinking as they lay in bed together that night. Methos was on his left side, balancing his head on his hand and reading a book that lay on the bed. Duncan stroked his fingers up and down his lover's right arm and stared at Methos in the adoring way that only lovers can.

Duncan lay close, his bare chest just brushing against Methos' t-shirt clad back and his knees behind Methos' own bent legs. The younger immortal kept his hips back though, not wanting an accidental erection to startle his partner.

Methos had shifted a couple of times as if uncomfortable but Duncan had thought nothing of it. But then Duncan had leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to the soft junction where jaw meets neck, in front of the man's ear.

The choked noise caught his attention and as Duncan lifted his head, he noticed the tent that had formed in the front of Methos' boxers. Methos had an erection.

For a moment, they both froze, unsure what to do, but Methos broke the moment by fleeing to the bathroom.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Methos stood in the small bathroom, clinging to the rim of the sink as if for dear life. He kept his head bowed, not wanting to look up into the mirror. He panted with the sudden adrenaline and tried to get his brain to function. The erection had long since faded under Methos' panic, but he feared the damage that had already been done.

How could he have gotten an erection?! They hadn't been doing anything, just laying there. Methos had become distracted from what he was reading, thinking about the feel of Duncan's fingers on him. They made him feel content, connected to Duncan and then that kiss…it had caused heat to pool in his belly, unfamiliar and yet known, desire…

But he wasn't ready! Duncan had said that they wouldn't…but Duncan would push now, think that he was just holding out, being selfish, demanding. And maybe he was ready, his body obviously thought so.

Duncan knocked resolutely on the door. Having overcome his own shock, he knew that he couldn't just leave Methos in the bathroom. He couldn't because he knew what the older immortal must be thinking.

He spoke, his voice loud enough to be heard through the door, "Methos, its ok. Being aroused physically doesn't mean that we're ready for anything more. I'm not going to do anything, nothing's going to change. But it's a good sign, Methos."

Methos didn't come out immediately. Duncan had resumed lying on their bed trying to appear relaxed to reaffirm his words that nothing had changed in their arrangement.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

When it happened again a week later, they were both more prepared. At first neither man moved. Methos continued reading and Duncan continued stroking his lover's arm. After a few moments with the erection undiminished, Methos got up and padded to the bathroom.

Duncan stayed on the bed this time, willing his own erection away, a skill he had had plenty of time to master lately. They didn't mention it at all that time, but Duncan snuggled a little closer to Methos that night.

Methos was waiting for it to happen the next night. Wearing his usual t-shirt and boxers, he laid down in bed, next to Duncan who wore only his briefs. The younger man smiled up at him as Methos placed his knee on the bed. Opening his arms, Duncan indicated that the ancient immortal should lie within them.

Duncan knew that this position made Methos the most uncomfortable, being held within the circle of brawny arms, however loose the embrace. As expected, Methos lay down gingerly, but this time it was as much with anticipation as dread.

It didn't take long. Cradled in Duncan's heat, it only took a few strokes of Duncan's hand along his back for the desire to resurface. This time they were facing one another and Methos lifted his face from Duncan's warm shoulder to look into the dark brown eyes.

"Duncan, I…"

Methos couldn't continue, he didn't know what to say, how to express that he wanted Duncan to touch him, to pleasure him. The ancient man wanted those soothing touches lower on his body…

Fortunately Duncan understood his half-finished plea. The Scotsman understood how afraid Methos was, afraid to ask for something that had hurt him so many times in the past, afraid to need someone else.

"You want me to touch you?" Duncan asked, his hand already sliding over Methos' hip.

His breathing already harsh, Methos nodded his assent. Duncan kept his left arm under his lover's neck, holding Methos against his body, while his right arm was busy, pulling the other man's boxers down.

Duncan stroked Methos' length, light at first, lighter than he knew Methos must want.

"Tell me, tell me how it feels, tell me what you want."

"Good, (pant, pant), it feels good, Duncan. Unh, harder."

Duncan stroked harder then as requested. It was the first time that he had really heard passion in his lover's voice.

A thick thumb flicked over the head on the upstroke. "Do you like that?"

Methos only nodded, biting his fuller bottom lip, preventing words. But Duncan wanted, needed…

"Tell me."

Lean hips bucked hard as Methos sought to push more of his length through Duncan's fist. "God! Harder. The tip…"

Duncan shortened his strokes to concentrate on head of Methos' penis, his thumb pressing hard into the sensitive underside there. Methos was lost, his only other sounds being whimpers and pants.

And then Methos came, his head thrown back and his hips jerking as Duncan had never seen him, leaving the ancient man heaving and boneless in his lover's arms. After several deep breaths, Methos made a move to get up but Duncan stopped him.

The younger immortal hadn't wanted to let the other man up, didn't want to let go. He used the edge of the sheet to clean Methos up, but he could feel the sudden tension in the lean muscles. And he thought he knew why long before a slender hand reached toward his own boxers.

"Don't. Just lie here with me."

Methos immediately acquiesced, not understanding but wanting to please Duncan, whatever his lover wanted. But Duncan just lay there, still cradling him and slowly stroking.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Duncan waited, listening as Methos' breath evened out in sleep. He had kept his hips back, but his erection was insistent and he slipped his arm out from under his lover and slipped to the bathroom.

He dropped his briefs and stood in the shower, not wanting to turn on the water and wake the older immortal from the soundest sleep Methos had had in quite a while.

Quickly he began to stroke, hard and fast, wanting to hurry and climb back into bed with the other immortal. But in his mind, he kept replaying that evening's events: the look in Methos' green eyes when he first spoke, the feel of the other man's cock, hot and silky in his hand, the look on Methos' face, that concentration that caused a furrow between the man's closed eyes, and his lover's lips, wet and pink and parted, letting out the most erotic soft moans and harsh pants and needy whimpers.

That memory was the stuff of many masturbatory fantasies to come.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

The next morning was sweet. Duncan woke early but stayed in bed, not wanting to leave the warm bed and the soft comfort of Methos' lean form pressed against him. They didn't speak of it when Methos finally got out and came to breakfast, but Duncan knew that the ancient man was fretting over what had occurred. The Scotsman could see it written across Methos' features.

And Methos was thinking about it, wondering what it meant, what would happen now. He wondered what _he _wanted to happen now.

It had been amazing. For once sex had not been about power or pain or humiliation or duty. What had happened last night had been about pleasure and giving and love. Methos had let himself really feel, be in the moment and give up a little control. And in giving up control, he opened himself up to greater pain. Did he have that much hope left? That much trust?

Methos had been heading toward the stairs, leaving Duncan to do some bills at his desk, when an odd thought occurred to him that stopped him. He couldn't remember the last time that he and Duncan had really kissed.

Duncan had jerked him off last night, but they had not kissed on the lips since the warehouse. Somehow kissing seemed so much more intimate and more…deliberate.

Methos walked over to stand beside his lover.

"Duncan," his voice was a soft, just above a whisper but determined nonetheless.

The Highlander had been looking up as soon as he had noticed Methos turn away from the door. He knew from the insistent tone of his lover's voice that whatever it was it was important and he stood.

Methos gently and slowly cupped Duncan's face between his hands and leaned in for a kiss. Their lips were both dry and it was a simply a gentle press, but it was a start. Methos parted his lips, bringing up his tongue to lightly trace Duncan's top lip before kissing the other man harder.

Duncan brought up his own arms to encircle his partner's tiny waist, his motions slow, allowing Methos time to object. But Methos didn't object and Duncan began to participate more fully, less afraid of scaring the other man.

When they finally parted, Duncan looked at Methos to see a mirror of his own smile on his lover's face. A smile that reached the green eyes, causing them to sparkle with too-rare mirth.

Duncan's right arm moved up Methos' back, guiding the lean man's chest to lean against his own. Methos was only too happy to oblige, feeling almost giddy, like he had climbed a great mountain as he bent his head to the crook of Duncan's shoulder.

They stood like that for a moment, before Duncan kissed Methos' temple and pulled back. The younger man took his partner's slender fingers in his own, leading the way back to the door, both men still sporting irrepressible grins.

"Ya know? The bills can wait…let's go get a beer."

"That sounds like a plan." Duncan watched a flush spread across Methos' sharp features. The ancient man looked shy, and it was adorable.

TBC


End file.
